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Stanley Wilkin Jun 2016
The sunrise burns the sky
A carefully coloured explosion
Blooded light flooding the low Kent fields that lie
Before Maidstone, excreting soundless motion:
Yellow carnation shards sway
With this violent advent of day.

In Hucking Estate diaphanous bluebells nestle
Beneath the groping canopy
Of Ash. Oak; the encroaching stinging nettle
Shields the frequent woodland scree
Covering with a verdant flush
Brooks that through the stones invisibly rush.

Within the hour, the Gorgon-headed sun
Sweeps aside the cloud-
The red into blue and orange has run
And in Lower Fullingpits Wood the increasingly  loud
Shuffling of badger attacking vole, fox strangling rabbit,
All compounded into daily habit.

The Kent Downs rise and fall
Like resurrected earth-bound music from a time
When hill, wood and pool
Emerged from unfettered chalk and lime.
Before the Cantii hunted in ancient Wents Wood,
For deer and boar, spurred not by hunger but for the love of blood.

Above the sparrow-hawk attacks the sparrows
Claw enmeshed in feather,
Beak unravelling neck. The unalterable sorrows
Of nature and weather.
Cruelty never ceases, but just gets more efficient-
Kindness remains deficient.
Carolina Sep 2015
I miss the way you use to look at me
     with those beautiful green eyes
the way you use to hold my hand
      while we wents for drives.
I miss the way you use to kiss my lips
      the feel of yours pressing against mine.
I miss you laugh
      and that amazing smile.
I miss your body
     and the warmth of it pressed against mine
I miss my head resting on your chest
     listening to your heart beat.
I miss your company
     and the way you called my baby girl
James Rainsford Nov 2010
Mountains may seem unscaleable,
Whilst you appear available.

Both suppositions may be frail
when it’s just the fear of
failure that prevents events,
and wents only remembered
as occasions that occurred.
From all I’ve heard reality
requires risk.

For death demands that a degree
of dare be spare,
For living to be less a chore,
and more a rare affair.

© James Rainsford 2010
Copyright. No reproduction in any medium without permission.
Contact: james@jamesrainsford.com
Vatsal Santoki Jul 2020
when she asked
I literally jumped
I was a little nervous
and little bit pumped

I got ready
and looked at the mirror
I wore cologne
As I was going near her

finally, that time comes
which I was waiting for
I went to the store
and bought a red flower

I went to pick her up
she was looking lovely,
I became unconscious,
I took minutes in recovery

when she smiled
and held my hand
I was breathing rapidly
and then my heart bland

finally, we kissed and then
a moment filled with grey color
we came closer
and everything wents blur
I know it's silly, but it's honest; so don't judge guys.

share me your first night together moment.
Akin to significance my eldest sister
felt toward her “*******” –
until she became a tweener
(totally tubular fuzzy bendable contrivances
analogous to an outsize pipecleaner)
my Mattie Mattel Doll meant the world
(circa mid 1960's), the whirled wide
webbed world on the horizon
with promise of much greener
virtual Oculus pastures once found
amongst Carib ******
indigenous tribes.

Any child with creative artistic bents
(minus this scribe, whose innate abilities cents
less limited me drawing stick figures, more so dense
macabre satisfactorily applying
   beard or mustache ala events
magic marker to pictured printed (faces forged into fences
of famous people popular
   within culture club), both gents
or gals, whose retouched photographs
   beggared ****** pents
sieve hair loom of men and women,
   while simultaneously rents
sing preoccupied to access
   excel lent glue, devoid of common sense
household padding material,
   and short scraps from circus tents
of yarn for do whit your self based artisans
   into trash bin of history project wents.

Even than orange ranked as the new black.

This abhor ridge gin null snippets
   red + yellow colored strands
atop kepi twas pseudo hair,
   sans manufactured eunuchs adorned head lands
with avast linkedin fingerhut dishabille curls),
    could easily construct grandstands
a similar facsimile re: globular molded,
   incorporated, glommed, errands
contrived head (vis a vis Plaster of Paris
   overcovering NON GMO
   gluten free partially hydrogenated brands
inflated balloon) to affect trademark

     globular fuzzy noggin dry as Awklands.

The simple plain plaything included
   a fitbit lifesaver size plastic ring.

Said small circular loop perfect
   to get jammed below first knuckle
of index finger affixed to a short string  
   (when pulled to extent tub buckle
of tether) activated moonfaced fixed bugeyed
   blank stare to utter garbled syllables  
  asper one who did suckle.

Despite the drabness, homliness,
   laquered pated trapped
xyst Yarmulke cheap flatness,
   I loved ragged slapped
around, and still iconic schlepped treasure
   (uber voiceless with rapt
zealous application bridging elementary
   functioning gizmo), initiating mapped
jabbering lock lipped prattling. Sometimes
   well worn action hero lapped
exhilaration, (got tossed in the air, booted
   as football, succor silently accepted flapped
sear sucker punches from robed buck
   after favorite fictitious "brother" chapped
accompanied my scrawny body at bath time) to adapt.

None the less, this adored billed idol kept me secure, especially
on rare occasions that found this contemplative, dutiful, fun
loving kid under the weather, or hospitalized for minor adenoids removal.

Oh yes, this non gendered plaything (non descript featureless
sewn seems showed zero differentiation, no matter to tell this
August, cherished, fondled kiddie piece de resistance lacked ****** identity.

Absent reproductive organs (eh, nada so significant omission)
cuz, this seemingly resistant quirky plaything, who unfairly re
ceived punishing physical indiscriminate treatment), yet still
connection omnipotent bond existed as if goofy guise happened
to be extended part of mine kempf.

Upon reflection, asper this childhood memento (nary a clue
what triggered remembrance of things past yesterday comprised
true value), an aha moment awoke to attempt to cap cha vague
essence about pretend friend designed in 1955, and based on a conceptby Mattel co-founder Elliot Handler. The character “Matty” derived from the name Mattel.

The nom de plume a concatenation of sortsderived after founders,
Harold Mattson and Elliot Handler. A brainstorm session
yielded concurrence viz the hybrid name of Matt + El (short for Elliot).
DrJames Martin Sep 2018
I wents to colij a long time ago,
And trides to do my best.
I didn’t gets to stays long though,
Had trubble with the spelin test.

I don’ts no why therz such a fusst
Since I no what I meen.
They says that I simply must
Learns to be more keen.
I blame the chemicals
Rome wents up in flames
Sometimes I wish I weren’t the one to say
That is just my mind
That’s not who I am
To quiet when it dies
To loud when people scream
I see them reach for me

I beg you on my knees to stay
That’s all I seem to do these days
As if your shadow would be mine
You say
“That’s the curse of a loud mind”

I wish it weren’t mortal truth
In my head I’d give it up for you
I’d loose the crown, the chaos and the pain
And I’d dance, I’d dance right in those flames

You’d blow them out
Just one by one
And in your hand a loaded gun
“Peace always needed people dead”
And you’d lift it to the emperors head
For as long as I can remember I was in love with art and history. 'The fire of rome' a painting from Hubert Robert inspired this poem as well as the whole historical event. Natures catastrophes and history are both destructive things the human race cannot seem to escape. Just as we seem to be stuck in cycles of thoughts and bad habits and sometimes love can lend a hand.

— The End —